


Spearmint

by WrithingBeneathYou



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Violence, feral!Tobirama, imprisoned!Madara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrithingBeneathYou/pseuds/WrithingBeneathYou
Summary: For years, there has been a rumor circulating in Suna that there is a monster—a beast—housed in Konoha.They are correct.But, it’s never been Uchiha Madara.MadaTobi Week 2019Day 6: August 9th –Time or dimension travel// Feral





	Spearmint

He shouldn’t be here.

Tobirama isn’t the kind of man to engage the enemy without planning or at least a modicum of forethought—particularly when his impulsivity threatens to unmoor an already tenuous relationship with Sunakagure. That kind of passionate rage is more Hashirama’s domain.

But even his brash Anija would never stoop to  _ this _ .

The gush of warmth across Tobirama’s incisors burns with greater potency than the first sip of sake in autumn. He savors the thickness—that heady, copper tang—and clamps down again just to feel the give of the Suna-nin’s hyoid. There’s a scream building. Tobirama can feel it in the clench of muscle, the nails digging grooves through the grime on his happuri. But, there’s nowhere for the sound to escape. It’s strangled and dies in the man’s chest.

Everything stills for a time.

The odd, liminal moment stretches on. There’s no fear. No anxiety clenching at Tobirama’s bowls. It’s oddly peaceful lying atop a body as it slowly cools against his hands and lips. He can’t say how long he stays there—nose filled with blood and vision inundated with red, red, red—but it’s long enough for his jaw to ache and for the muscle to finally slacken.

He eases himself back upright and lets his mouth hang open for a moment of relief. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he’s cognizant of the myriad of small pains. Scratches mar his face and neck where the happuri failed to protect him fully. A half-dozen puncture wounds ooze from his thigh, won by a senbon before he managed to crush his erstwhile foe’s wrist.

Even so, this victory is one he would consider to be without cost.

Madara continues to breathe, chest falling slow and even in his cell across the way. That’s enough.

Hissing, Tobirama disentangles the stiff grip from his hair and regains his height in increments. His joints bemoan standing after having spent so long hunched like a wildcat. He works his jaw to relieve the twinge.

“Helpless, indeed,” he snarls as he gathers the remaining moisture in his mouth and spits on the corpse.

As if he needs chakra to kill. As if binding the might of his Suiton makes him weak.

As if abducting his husband wouldn’t end badly in a thousand different ways.

Between their clans, the Uchiha are better known for their love and devotion, but the world will fall before a Senju gives up what belongs to them. Theirs is a dark, vicious love, and one in which Tobirama has steeped himself fully. Izuna labeled it obsession once, but Tobirama calls it commitment.

Faithfulness.

He backtracks down the hall to the guardroom and sifts through what’s left of the bodies in search of a key for his shackles. His one bare foot slip slides in the gore on every other step, losing traction each time something a little more firm oozes up between his toes. By all means, he should be ashamed of what he’s done, but there’s no room for remorse. Not when Madara still remains caged.

Funny how they captured the man and left the animal to roam free.

If they had taken Tobirama, Suna may have stood a chance. 

The key is a rusted, civilian thing despite the artistry of the seals around the shackles. He wastes no time in pondering the meaning behind that fact as he rams it home and peels the twisted metal from his skin.

Air kisses the rawness.

His fists clench once.

Eyes narrowed, he tears every ounce of moisture from the room to hover in a vacillating orb before him. The corpses return to the dust they were born to, leaving behind nothing more than sandy clothes.

“I’m coming, Koibito,” Tobirama says with a crooked smile. He has his other half to collect—the life-partner who protects his reason and makes him whole.

It’s telling how the Suiton orb follows him without hand-signs. It scours the mud brick walls in its wake, contracting and expanding in time with Tobirama’s breathing. As soon as Madara’s cell is in sight, the orb shifts into a vertical torus and begins to spin with the deafening roar of the ocean. Iron succumbs to its teeth and falls to the floor with a deceptively cheery tinkle.

Tobirama wastes no time in stepping through the makeshift doorway and gathering Madara up in his arms. There’s a few day-old bruises, but no other obvious signs of maltreatment. Ignoring the smell of musk, he leans in close and presses a sweet kiss to Madara’s lips. Though slack and unresponsive, the feel of him is like coming home.

Tobirama smiles—a gift reserved for no one but this stubborn, irascible, disaster of a man. 

“You idiot,” he scoffs fondly. “You should know better than to accept diplomatic missions without me.”

He licks the salty, menthol-like taste from his lips. A single eyebrow rises at the use of ketamine and he can’t help but wonder at the dosage.

No matter. Anija will filter out anything that lingers.

Tobirama pulls Madara onto his lap, unresisting, and goes to stand.

Madara’s weight is substantial, but it’s a burden he will bear time and time again if only to feel hot breath against his neck and a strong pulse beneath his palm. Between heartbeats, Tobirama reaches for his nearest Hirashin marker and sends the Suiton hole-saw off at speed to demolish whatever lies in its path.

For years, there has been a rumor circulating in Suna that there is a monster—a beast—housed in Konoha.

They are correct.

But, it’s never been Uchiha Madara. 


End file.
